Then they heard a shout from outside the tent, a woman’s deep voice. Anari Idaho. “Raise the alarm! Someone killed the guards! Quick — to the prisoner!”
Gilbertus’s eyes widened in alarm. “You need to get away, or all is lost. Do as I told you. Help me to keep my promises.”
Draigo hesitated for an instant. “All right, Headmaster.” He took out his knife, slashed the back fabric of the tent, and dove through the opening. He leaped over the body of the third guard and raced into the darkness, melting away in the swamp as Butlerians surged toward the prisoner’s tent.
Glancing back, he saw Anari Idaho charging through the camp like a juggernaut, her sword raised as she hunted for him. Draigo wished he’d had more of a chance to say goodbye to the Headmaster, but with his organized Mentat mind, he would always be able to recall every detail of Gilbertus’s face with perfect clarity.
Chapter 74 (There are far more pleasant places for an Emperor)
There are far more pleasant places for an Emperor to visit than Arrakis, but it is important for the sake of appearances that I go there in person. I reign over my subjects on squalid worlds as well as those on magnificent ones.
— EMPEROR SALVADOR CORRINO, Imperial Journals
The spice crew chief received word from the spotter aircraft. “Wormsign, chief! It’s close — and a big one.”
The Imperial entourage responded with a titter of nervous excitement. Salvador hurried to the dust-smeared observation windows on the control deck. “Good. I’ve been wanting to see one.”
The crew chief kept his attention back on the communication system. “Plot its course. How long do we have?” The spotter transmitted coordinates, and the location of the behemoth appeared on a grid-map of the surrounding dunes. “Gods below, it’s close! Why the hell didn’t you spot it sooner?”
“It must have been running deep, Chief,” the spotter replied.
“You should hire better spotters,” Salvador remarked.
Crew Chief Okarr’s drawn expression and gray complexion alarmed the Emperor. “This one is extremely close, Sire. Too close!”
Wondering what action was necessary, Salvador snapped a signal to his Imperial troops. “Be on high alert. We may need your protection.”
The factory crew chief blinked at him in disbelief. “Sire, your guards can’t do anything against a giant sandworm.”
Directeur Venport’s voice came over the comm speakers, sounding scratchy and distant, even though Salvador thought he had merely gone to an office in another part of the spice factory. “Chief Okarr, prepare to jettison the spice — we don’t have much time.” The Emperor was not impressed with the electrical systems aboard this big mobile factory. Static storms and dust must be playing havoc with the circuitry.
“Yes, Directeur. I summoned the carryalls, and my crew is ready to evacuate. I’m trying to reach the rescue ships right now — they should be inbound momentarily.” His hands a blur across the controls, the chief prepped the spice container and launched it.
The loud explosive report startled Salvador. “What was that? Are we under attack?”
“That was planned, Sire.” Chief Okarr was flushed and tense, but he still answered the Emperor’s questions. “All the spice gathered during our operations is packed into an armored cargo container, which I just jettisoned. In tight situations like this, we launch it with a locator beacon far from the spice factory. With the worm distracted by the greater vibrations from our operations, we can usually retrieve the container later.”
“Interesting,” Salvador said, but his nervous entourage did not seem interested at all.
The captain of the Imperial Guard picked up on the tension in the control room. “Sire, we should return to the Imperial shuttle. It’s time to get to safety.”
Salvador nodded. “Yes, let’s leave these good people to their work. Spice mining is a complicated business, as we’ve seen firsthand. Good job, all of you.”
The guard captain touched his earadio, listened, and recoiled. “Sire, there’s been an explosion on the shuttle! I think it’s sabotage.”
The entourage gasped, looking to Salvador for guidance. He tried to be strong, for their sakes. Mustering a calm voice, he said, “We were warned of the dangers on Arrakis, but we’ll be all right. Captain, arrange for us to get away.”
“Sire! The shuttle can’t fly! The engines are ruined.”
“Ruined? You mean they can’t be repaired?”
“Ruined, Sire! We’re trapped here.”
“Will we still be able to see the worm?” asked one of the baliset players, as if she were more interested in inspiration for a new song than her own safety.
“I’m sure we’ll see the worm from the evacuation ships. Crew Chief, where do we go to board your rescue vessels?”
The chief was short-tempered, barking orders into the comm system. “We don’t have enough escape ships for a hundred extra people!”
“Carryalls aren’t responding, Chief — I can’t raise them at all,” shouted one of the workers. “They’ve got to be inbound.”
Someone else yelled, “That worm will be here in less than five minutes.”
Venport’s voice crackled over the speakers on the control deck. “Emperor Corrino, my apologies, but urgent business has called me away. I would have preferred to tell you in person.” He sounded flippant. “I’ve decided to reject Imperial seizure of my spice operations. Here on Arrakis, power doesn’t come from a title or bloodline, but from actions, resources, and carefully laid plans.”
Salvador didn’t understand what the man was saying.
Venport continued, “Chief Okarr, the spice cargo has been jettisoned safely away. You and your men have served Combined Mercantiles well and generated a great deal of profit for us. It was your bad luck to be assigned here today, but rest assured that I will compensate your families generously for their losses. And Emperor Corrino … enjoy the rest of your tour.”
The chief roared curses into the voice pickup. Imperial soldiers closed around Salvador to protect him, though he didn’t feel any safer having them near. The factory workers were in a complete panic. Some curled up, muttering prayers, while others fled the control deck, but there was no safe place to go.
Outside on the dunes, a handful of ground rollers raced away from the harvester factory. Salvador wondered if he and his inner circle could commandeer those vehicles and get away across the desert, although apparently the giant worms pounced on any small vibrations.
He felt confused, frozen into inaction. Roderick would have known what to do—he would have issued the right orders to arrange an escape, might even have been able to prevent Venport’s treachery in the first place.
Alas, his brother had always been a stronger, more competent person than he was. Many of Salvador’s special guards and advisers were concerned that Roderick might assassinate his brother and take the throne, but Salvador had never worried. Roderick was his closest, most loyal friend.
No, his brother would have kept them all safe. In fact, Roderick had advised him against imperializing the Arrakis spice operations at all. It had been Manford Torondo’s idea, and a very bad one. Roderick had advised him not to go to Arrakis, too. He bit his lower lip and muttered, “You were right, dear brother.”
The guard captain withdrew his Chandler pistol and pointed the deadly weapon at the crew chief’s florid face. “Tell us how to get the Emperor out of here, now! There must be a way.”
Unafraid of the weapon, the chief bellowed back, “There is no way — I’d evacuate my own people if I could! We can’t possibly call in any rescue ships in time. We have only minutes left.”